


A touch of silk

by Askellie (NadaNine)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blindfolds, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, Fontcest, M/M, Overstimulation, Sensation Play, Sensitive bones, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 08:50:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10533033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: Sans's bones are delicate, fragile, but that just means Papyrus has to work harder to make sure he's well taken care of. It's definitely a job worthy of the Great Papyrus!





	

It starts with a simple shirt, given to him by the human who is still obviously in the throes of disappointed rejection. Papyrus opens the gift and simply stares for a moment, caught by the silvery sheen of the cloth and the weightless, ethereal quality of the weave. He’s never seen such fine craftsmanship – not since coming to the surface, and certainly not down in the underground even though the laundry tag promises it to be 100% spider silk. He’s pretty sure humans and spiders don’t get along that well, so it must have come from some monster vendor.

“It’s wonderful, human!” he exclaims enthusiastically, prompted by the hopeful, expectant look on Frisk’s face. They beam brightly in response.

 _Mom helped me pick it_ , they sign with exaggerated, pleased movements. _I asked her what a cool guy would wear._

Across the room, Sans snorts ungracefully, and Papyrus’s expression sours. Frisk seems oblivious, but Papyrus is suddenly certain there’s some sort of pun at work here and, sure enough, when he feels the cloth again it’s light and airy and perfect for the incoming heat of summer. A _cool_ guy. _Ugh_.

“Thank you, Frisk,” he says, trying not to let his disdain show, because despite that it is a lovely gift even though Papyrus still prefers to wear his battle body most days. Even if there’s no actual battling to be done, it makes him look heroic, and the fact that Sans made it for him makes it irreplaceably special. “It’s delightful. I will be sure to wear it next time I see you.”

 _You should try it on_ , Frisk presses, looking hopefully at him. _To make sure it’s the right size._

“Yeah, bro,” Sans pipes up gleefully. “We need to check if it’s a _fitting_ gift for someone as _cool_ as you.”

“Ugh,” Papyrus says aloud this time, standing up and neatly setting aside the wrapping paper to be stored in his friendship album later. “Fine.”

He begins unlatching the sides of his chest-plate, shrugging it off and setting it aside only to be interrupted by a pair of spluttering squeaks. He looks up to find both Sans and Frisk wearing near-identical expressions of consternation and embarrassment.

“Uh…right here, bro?” Sans asks unevenly. “I thought you’d, uh. Go change in your room.”

Frisk’s expression quickly overcomes its shock, and begins to look a lot more like intense interest.

“Nyeh heh! Are you intimidated by muscular physique, brother?” Papyrus strikes a pose, flexing his arms in the way he’s seen Undyne do when she and Aaron are having a flexing contest. The effect isn’t quite so dramatic without muscles, but he’s sure it looks impressive. “I’m sure it will be an educational experience for the human to see what such a perfect skeletal body looks like.”

Frisk nods attentively as Papyrus begins pulling off his dark undershirt. Sans is immediately behind the small human, his hands covering their eyes.

“Uhh, nope. That’s way too much perfection for the kiddo to take,” Sans declares. His own gaze seems to have trouble removing itself from Papyrus’s bare rib-cage.

“There’s nothing scandalous about my bones, Sans,” Papyrus sniffs. “Human children look at naked skeletons all the time! They have models in their classrooms so they know what they should aspire to.”

Sans makes a distressed noise. “L-let’s not talk about that. Just put the shirt on already.”

Papyrus obliges even while Frisk stomps their foot in outrage at being denied the sight of Papyrus’s bones. They don’t try too hard to escape Sans’s hold, though, which is good because Sans is looking incredibly distracted. Papyrus hides a smile, vastly pleased at the effect his body has on his brother despite how regularly Sans sees him unclothed these days. Well, Sans has always been oddly shy about his own bones. He doesn’t seem to understand how Papyrus can love each and every one of them.

He slips into the shirt, and immediately feels a soothing sort of chill slide over his bones, like he’s being submerged in liquid. He suspects the cloth might actually be enchanted, which takes the pun to a whole new level. It makes him feel pleasantly nostalgic for Snowdin, and he hums in pleasure as he deftly fastens all the buttons and straightens out the fabric over his torso.

Sans is still staring; gaping, in fact, his expression frozen in an odd expression of awe. Slowly Sans lets his hands drop from Frisk’s face, stepping closer to his brother as if drawn by a magnet. He reaches up and carefully glides his fingers down the length of Papyrus’s sides. The delicate touch threatens to give Papyrus a matching flush, and Sans seems to realise his gesture is a little too blatant for public viewing because he quickly moves back.

“Yep,” Sans chokes out, attempting nonchalance. “Fits great. Good work, kiddo.”

Frisk beams, though they’re also still casting something like a leer in Papyrus’s direction. Papyrus heaves an internal sigh. It’s such a shame he can’t tell the human that he’s already moved on to a new relationship, and is therefore not available to be an object of their affections. He feels slightly bad for drawing them so deeply into the web of love.

Sans, meanwhile, is wearing a much more flustered expression as he shoos Frisk towards the kitchen to continue their holiday festivities. After a moment of thought, Papyrus decides against returning to his battle body. He’ll keep the shirt on a little longer, and maybe find a moment to inquire about what exactly made his brother look at him so strangely.

* * *

Sans actually ends up cornering him first, though not before putting the fully satiated and thoroughly exhausted human to bed. He then corners Papyrus in their bedroom, playfully manhandling his brother by dragging at his hips and pushing him back onto the bed. He couldn’t really force Papyrus to go anywhere if Papyrus wasn’t fully complicit in it, but it’s rare to see Sans taking such initiative so the taller brother plays along.

“What did you think you were doing, undressing in front of Frisk like that, huh?” Sans asks with mock outrage, straddling Papyrus’s hips to keep him in place. Already his phalanges are groping over Papyrus’s chest, tracing the outline of his ribs through his shirt.

Papyrus huffs out a soft ‘nyeh’ of amusement. “Were you jealous, brother? I think the human loves me almost as much as you do.”

“They better not,” Sans threatens, too light-hearted to be serious. “Or I’m gonna have serious words with that kid. No one gets to love you like that but me.”

He promptly demonstrates this by nuzzling against Papyrus’s sternum, like a cat scent-marking their property. The silk of the shirt makes the contact nearly frictionless, but it tingles with the promise of static electricity. The shirt starts to cling to his bones, encouraged by Sans’s attentive petting. Combined with the inherent chill woven through the cloth, it’s a unique but thoroughly pleasant sensation.

“I like this shirt,” Sans declares, hiking it up slightly so his fingers can graze against the supple length of Papyrus’s spine. “You should wear it for me often, yeah?”

“O-oh?” Papyrus is finding it more than a little difficult to focus, but is bemused by the odd request. He gives his brother a look which is met with only a cheeky grin.

“'Cuz then you’ll be taking it off for me a lot too,” Sans concludes smugly, promptly teasing open the buttons to show his little brother what he means.

* * *

It takes Papyrus a while to figure it out. Sans has never complained about his brother’s insistence on wearing his battle body – in fact, he’s admitted with sheepish embarrassment that he’d crafted it in a way that accented Papyrus’s most attractive traits for his own viewing pleasure – but over the next few weeks pieces of his armour go mysteriously missing and the shirt keeps appearing prominently in his wardrobe. When Papyrus is done wearing it, Sans spends the next few days wearing it as a nightshirt, which is both boggling and frustrating since his brother rarely bothers to change into the pajamas he actually owns. The fact that he’s not only wearing dirty laundry, but is putting unnecessary wear on such a nice shirt earns him a scolding.

Unfortunately that only prompts Sans to be more sneaky about it. Papyrus catches him several times wearing it on Sans’s days off when Papyrus is scheduled to be working. He’ll come home and find Sans wearing the shirt and nothing else (“I don’t have to wear pants in the house if I don’t wanna, Pap. Besides, this thing is practically a dress on me.”), padding around in the kitchen and bending over obscenely to search the cupboards for ketchup, or lazing on the couch in an absolutely scandalous pose, legs spread and hooking over the backrest. Sans’s reactions to Papyrus’s indignant and aroused complaints are always unrepentantly casual, but Papyrus holds a suspicion that his brother knows exactly what he’s doing.

His suspicion is more or less confirmed when one day he comes home early from his shift to find Sans spread out on their shared bed, eyes closed and his body undulating in ecstasy as he shakingly paws at himself through the fabric of the shirt. The hem is damp with the slick magical condensation on his pelvis, and his voice breaks on needy gasps as he brings himself to completion. Papyrus finds himself frozen in the doorway, unable to do anything but watch as Sans gurgles out his name and practically convulses with the force of his orgasm. Rarely has Papyrus seen his brother so undone, so he waits until Sans is starting to surface from the afterglow – startling and spluttering upon realising his actions had been witnessed – before joining Sans in bed.

It takes some sweet talking, soft encouragement and the reassuring hum of their souls beating in tandem before Sans finally confesses. “I guess I just really like the way it feels? It makes everything soft, but…still intense, y'know?”

He tries to shrug it off as something negligible, and Papyrus knows better than to press. Instead he stops to consider their entwined fingers, gently squeezing Sans’s small hand in his own. It’s true that the rasp of bone on bone can sometimes be a little rough. The texture of their bodies isn’t sleek like glass, but rather slightly porous. Sans, with his small frame and poor health, has always been more delicate than his brother, and though Papyrus struggles to be careful it’s sometimes hard not to get carried away in the heat of the moment. Sans has never complained, but Papyrus has occasionally caught him wincing or limping after a particularly energetic night.

He knows Sans’s body: his uncertainty in being able to match Papyrus’s endurance in order to satisfy him properly is something of a sore point with Sans, but Papyrus has never given much thought to finding solutions. This is an oversight he intends to address as soon as possible.

“Don’t worry, brother,” he says. “If this helps you feel good, we can use it more often.”

Sans mumbles his appreciation against his brother’s collarbone, still not quite able to look him in the eye-socket. His body is being cradled atop Papyrus’s own, and experimentally the younger runs his other hand up the length of Sans’s spine. The silky fabric makes the stroke effortlessly smooth, and Sans croons out a pleased sound. Papyrus’s hold tightens, protective and reassuring. He already has plenty of ideas.

* * *

Papyrus takes advantage of a lazy afternoon that Sans is staunchly napping through in order to prepare their room. It takes barely any time at all, and by the time he’s done he’s buzzing with such anticipation that he bypasses the gentle, romantic awakening he’d planned on and simply scoops his brother up in an enthusiastic bridal carry.

“Sans! I have a surprise for you!”

“Whuzzat?” Sans slurs, his voice muzzy from sleep. He yawns widely against Papyrus’s shoulder, limp and trusting in his brother’s arms. It takes a few more seconds of sluggish blinking before he finally registers Papyrus’s words. “A surprise?”

“Yes! A very _provocative_ one! You will be entirely helpless against my seductive prowess!”

“Mmm,” Sans agrees sleepily, nuzzling against Papyrus’s collarbones. “Sounds good, bro.”

Papyrus somehow feels that Sans isn’t taking his amorous declaration very seriously, but surely that will be quick to change once Sans has seen the surprise. Papyrus marches them both to the front of the bedroom door and sets his brother down. Sans sways a little, but is awake enough to remain standing, staring up at his brother with a grin full of affection.

“So what’s up, Pap? You been researching dating techniques again?”

“No! Well. Yes. But this is something even better!” Papyrus declares, pulling out a long length of fabric with a flourish.

Sans blinks at it, uncomprehending. “What’s…? Oh.”

He doesn’t even get to finish his question. Papyrus has already moved to fasten the silken blindfold over his brother’s eye-sockets, making sure the knot is firm but not too tight. Sans’s bemused expression flushes slightly as he twists his head, finding his vision shrouded in darkness.

“That’s. Uh. Different,” he says cautiously, then grins again. “You tryin’ ta pull the wool over my eyes, Pap?”

Papyrus sniffs in disdain, but it doesn’t escape him that Sans doesn’t even make an attempt to remove the blindfold. Sans just reaches out a hand for his brother, and Papyrus captures it instantly, guiding him through the door.

“Really, Sans, if it were wool, I’m…not sure I’d be scratching your particular itch.” It’s almost physically painful to say a pun that terrible, but it’s worth it for Sans’s delighted laughter. Papyrus can’t resist leaning over to click his teeth against his smaller brother’s before tugging meaningfully at his shirt. “May I…?”

Sans obligingly lifts his arms to make the t-shirt easier to remove. “Go for it, bro.”

The implicit, easy trust is touching. His soul feels warm and heavy, full of adoration as he peels Sans’s clothes off, leaving him standing bare save for the blindfold. There’s a moment where Sans self-consciously moves to cover himself, but Papyrus is quick to catch his hands again, pulling him forward and closer to the bed.

“Now, naturally you must be thinking that this alone is your surprise,” Papyrus says, staring down at Sans’s expectant face. “But you would be underestimating the Great Papyrus! For now that you have revealed your desires to me, brother, I wish for nothing more than to accommodate them!”

To that end, he has spared no detail in his quest to outfit their bed with the softest, most luxuriously silken sheets he could find. Muffet’s Spider Emporium had eagerly accepted his gold in exchange for their finest weaves, most of which contained a few custom enchantments he’s looking forward to experimenting with. Taking a careful hold of Sans, he gently puts his brother down in the centre of the mattress, giving him a minute to explore the new landscape of the sheets below him.

“Uh…” Whatever Sans might have intended to say trails off in awe as he reaches out with his limbs, realisation starting to sink in. His bones slide with a whisper over the silk, and the more he moves, the deeper his flush becomes. It spreads not just over his face, but down the length of his body, blue magic hazing at the joints where his magic is already growing hot and heated. “You really went all out, huh?”

Papyrus knows his surprise is a success because there isn’t even a pun in that sentence. He beams, just watching for a minute as Sans stretches out, his expression growing soft and contented. “Nyeh heh heh! Of course!”

Sans still can’t see him, but he stills as Papyrus readies his next surprise, trying to figure out what his brother is doing. He must not guess, because he jumps a little in surprise as Papyrus lays a hand over his smaller brother’s sternum, his phalanges now adorned in a special made pair of gloves.

“Oh man,” Sans breathes, blindly touching his brother’s knuckles and exploring up the length of his arm. The gloves extend all the way up to the tops of his humerus, sleekly fitted to the bones of Papyrus’s arm. “Pap…”

“Do you like it?” Papyrus asks, and though he intends to sound suave and sure, his voice betrays a hint of real nervousness. Normally their escapades in the bedroom are a matter of collaboration; Papyrus’s energy and enthusiasm guided by Sans’s greater knowledge of skeleton erogenous zones and his own limitations. Papyrus has never had such control over directing their activities, and although he _is_ the Great Papyrus, it’s also a little nerve-wracking…but exciting too, in a way he’s never considered before. If Sans is amenable, he wants to try this again.

“Are you sure I can’t take off the blindfold?” Sans asks, his smile wide and cheeky. “I bet you look beautiful, bro.”

 _Beautiful_. That’s not a word he’s ever heard in reference to himself. It’s a fight not to be flustered, but Papyrus beats it back even though he wants to bask in the pleasure of that compliment.

“Not yet,” he says, moving further onto the mattress so he can lean over Sans properly. “I want you to focus on just _feeling_.”

He presses down on Sans’s chest to encourage the smaller skeleton to lie back, taking a moment to appreciate the strong, steady pulse of Sans’s soul thrumming with devotion and gratitude. There are little shivers running through his bones, but Papyrus is quite sure that’s anticipation rather than uncertainty. Intimacy between monsters leaves very little hidden: their souls overflowing with love and the need to express it.

Sans loves him. Now he’ll get to show his brother how much he loves him in return.

He starts at the very tips of his brother’s phalanges, lacing their fingers together and bringing his brother’s knuckles to his mouth. Mindful of Sans’s appreciation of softness, he explores carefully, gently, laving every inch of delicate bone with skeleton kisses.

Behind the blindfold, Sans’s face turns an even more vibrant shade of blue. His breathing pattern – an unnecessary reflex that tends to accompany exertion – already sounds unsteady as he squirms against the sheets.

“Pap,” he starts, his whole body arching yearningly towards his brother even though aside from that nearly platonic gesture, they’re barely touching. His voice sounds strained. “J-just so you know…keep that up, and I’m not gonna last very long.”

“But we’ve barely even started, brother,” Papyrus points out, and this time he’s proud of the low, enticing timbre his voice manages to capture. Experimentally, he runs his other hand down the length of Sans’s arm, stroking the inner planes between ulna and radius. His gloved fingers glide effortlessly, and Sans actually gasps, little sparks of light flaring through the blindfold. It’s almost a shame not to see his brother’s eye-lights, but already his responsiveness to touch is much more intense than normal – or maybe that’s the power of the silken sheets at work.

It’s a delight, having almost complete freedom over his brother’s body. Without sight, Sans can only react instead of act, and he does so much more expressively than he might have if he could have seen the way his bones flush and tremble as Papyrus moves down from his forearm to his humerus. Magical condensation is starting to condense across Sans’s bones, but the gloves are magicked to repel liquid so nothing seeps in. It only slicks his caress even further, and Papyrus blushes slightly himself as he attempts a very lewd stroking motion down the length of Sans’s arm and earns a strangled moan from his brother. Sans is writhing on the sheets, his spine arching, hips undulating against empty air, but the heated haze of magic in his pelvic cavity suggests he’s already very close to his limit.

“Wha-!? Hey!” Sans yelps as Papyrus drags him up by the hips, eagerly burying his face between his brother’s legs and letting his tongue delve deeply into the cavity of Sans’s pelvis. “Ack! Pap, wait! I haven’t even-! Hnnngh!”

He could allow his brother’s magic to form into a more solid state around his bones – a soft cushion of ectoflesh filled with sensitive nerve endings crafted for pleasure – but it’s exciting just to swirl his tongue through the shimmering haze. It’s soft and sweet against his tongue, almost like fairy-floss, with sparks of pepper and citrus and the flavour that he associates specifically with Sans – a kind of icy-hot ozone of powerful magic. The magic slides against his teeth and jaw, just as desperate to meet him, and he can feel it throbbing with heat and force against him as Sans lets loose an unadulterated shout. His body goes tense, legs hooked over Papyrus’s shoulders, spine arched and rigid, and his soul flaring with waves of pleasure as he comes hard against Papyrus’s mouth. There’s a sudden gush as incorporeal magic turns to tangible liquid, and Papyrus slurps it up greedily, making the most obscene sounds as his brother comes slowly down from the high of his climax – the first of the many Papyrus intends for him.

The rattling aftershocks begin to subside, and Sans’s body goes completely limp again. Having lapped up as much of his brother’s release as he can reach, Papyrus gently lowers him back to the sheets, taking a moment to just admire the dazed, rapturous expression on Sans’s face.

“That. Wow. Pap.” It’s almost amusing, seeing his normally articulate brother completely reduced to single word sentences. Papyrus chuckles, leaning over to lick at Sans’s mouth. After a dazed moment, Sans responds, his own tongue eagerly seeking to tangle with its mate, and as they kiss Papyrus can appreciate the taste of his brother all over again.

When he manages to pull back, it’s quite noticeable that the magic in Sans’s pelvis hasn’t dissipated. Normally his brother’s stamina is quite low, his body easily overwhelmed, but instead of being left overheated and aching, the magic in the fabric seems to have protected Sans from the more abrasive effects of their lovemaking.

“More, brother?” he asks, and is elated by Sans’s frantic nod of approval.

Sans’s flush darkens further, starting to look more like the rich hues of integrity than his natural colour of patience. Almost shyly he places his hands under his own femurs and lifts at the knee, spreading himself open for Papyrus in clear supplication. With a tight breath, his magic finally takes a solid shape, soft flesh forming around his pelvis in the shape of a vulva. The way he’s holding himself makes the lips of his labia part lewdly, offering an unobstructed view of his opening which glistens with inviting wetness.

Papyrus feels himself quiver with a powerful want before eagerly diving back down, his enthusiastic pounce startling a yelp of surprise out of Sans before it’s immediately swallowed up by a moan.

As much as he loves his brother’s bones, there’s an enticing novelty in exploring soft, magically constructed flesh. Sans is much more adept at it than Papyrus himself; Sans has taught him how to form the shapes and how to attune them for sensitivity, but his instinctive restraint over his own magic always makes the constructs feel tight and restrictive over his bones. When Sans does it, his deeper magic reserves allow him to cushion himself with generous excess, so his ecto-body always feels softer and thicker than Papyrus’s. It’s a heartening sign of health and comfort when Sans can wrap himself in such an ample swaddling of magic, and Papyrus enjoys the enveloping feeling of his brother’s plump thighs tightening on the sides of his skull as he presses his mouth between Sans’s legs.

“Hnnngh, Pap,” Sans rumbles, trying hard to keep himself spread but not able to help the way his body wants to clench around his brother. Papyrus hums encouragingly, his hands clinging to the curves of Sans’s hips and buttocks. The friction of silk on skin is slightly different than that of bone, and he vigorously explores the new sensation, kneading and stroking, pinching and tickling. The contrasting sensations make Sans buck beneath him, his pleading groans broken up by gasps and peals of delighted laughter. The feedback is slightly smothered by Sans’s flesh pressing over his ear-holes, but it’s a wonderful sound regardless.

Mindful of his brother’s sensitivity, Papyrus cushions his own teeth with a thin layer of magic as well – a rushed mimicry of lips to give him more options to pleasure his brother’s pussy. Skeletal jaws aren’t readily made for sucking, but with the help of magic he can latch on to his brother’s flesh and suckle on the already engorged nub of his clitoris. Even gentle pressure makes shudders ripple through Sans’s frame, his skin throbbing with pulsing heat as his magic roils in pleasure.

When he summons his tongue, it’s less the traditional shape and more of a rope-like, sinuous appendage, long and incredibly supple. He laps diligently along the length of his brother’s slit, not just along the sensitive interior but across the outer folds and into the creases where his thighs join his groin. If he presses hard, he can just barely feel the curves of Sans’s ischium beneath the summoned flesh, and he nips playfully at the buoyant coating of magic, imagining sinking his teeth into Sans’s real body. Doing so would probably be more painful for his brother than pleasurable, but protected by flesh, Sans just lets out a tight wail of need, one hand coming down to flutter mindlessly over Papyrus’s skull.

Unable to resist Sans’s blatant need, Papyrus turns his attention to his brother’s entrance. As adept as Sans is with his magic, his small size still places a physical limitation on the way he summons his genitals, and Papyrus always has to be careful when penetrating him to ensure that there’s as little discomfort as possible. To begin with, he only lets his tongue spiral around the opening, thoroughly tasting the trickle of wetness that’s seeped from his passage. The taste is slightly different than that of Sans’s raw magic. There’s a musky undertone, and the acidic crackle is less sharp, softened by a peculiar sweetness that Papyrus can also taste on his brother’s skin.

Sans’s heel kicks impatiently into his back, though probably more by accident than intent as he writhes under Papyrus’s ministrations. “Bro, come on, please, I’m ready, just do it, come on-!”

Refusing to be goaded, Papyrus keeps his motions slow and steady, testing his own restraint as he only lets his tongue delve shallowly into Sans’s entrance, gently coaxing the muscles into opening for him. It’s almost an entertaining game, feeling his brother’s opening try to clench around him and capture his tongue only for him to slide it easily out of reach before darting back again for another playful, tantalising thrust. Sans makes an entirely new catalogue of sounds – hungry whimpers and reckless groans and even quiet hisses of frustration as Papyrus tests the very limit of his brother’s patient nature.

“Please, bro, _please_!” Sans begs, all but clawing at the sheet below him, and the ragged note of sheer desperation in his voice finally compels Papyrus to push his tongue in further, drawing a brokenly grateful sound from Sans as his brother’s tongue finally thrusts deeper into his passage. It’s still a tight fit, Sans’s magic squeezing tightly around him, and even though the nerves in his tongue aren’t crafted specifically for pleasure the way a sex organ would be, there’s a rush of dizzying, blissful sensation at the feeling of their individual magics being so tightly entwined. Papyrus groans, jaw stretching wider as he sucks firmly over Sans’s passage, creating a tight suction as he thrusts his tongue in and out of his brother, caressing him from the inside. He can barely even hear Sans now, all his focus pouring into his own efforts to explore his brother as deeply and thoroughly as possible. He has to hold Sans down firmly, faintly aware of the way Sans is screeching and writhing beneath him, his voice hitting unnaturally high notes as Papyrus’s long tongue finds the back of his passage and presses hard, straining against the surrounding flesh, filling his brother up to bursting.

He feels Sans convulse, and then a fresh gush of flavour spills into his mouth as Sans comes again, his passage convulsing around Papyrus’s tongue in a wild dance of pressure. He’s absently grateful that skeletons have no need to breathe, because he doesn’t think he could escape the tight clench of Sans’s thighs around him, and he doesn’t want to. The peak of Sans’s pleasure resonates in his own soul, and for a moment he goes dazedly limp, drowning in Sans’s taste and the heat of his soft flesh against Papyrus skull before the tremoring aftershocks pass and Sans finally goes limp.

Papyrus finally comes up for unnecessary air, dispelling his own magic and propping himself up to check on his brother. The blindfold has come slightly askew on Sans’s skull, but his eyes are closed, and there’s a look of utter contentment on his face. Sans cracks an eye-socket open as Papyrus moves to lie beside him, and the pupil is a fuzzy heart of absolute adoration as he clumsily nuzzles against Papyrus’s sternum. He slurs out a few indistinct syllables, but it’s clear he’s still beyond words at the moment. Even so, Papyrus doesn’t need any coherent affirmation to know what his brother is trying to say.

He clicks his teeth affectionately against the plane of his brother’s temple. “You’re very welcome, Sans.”


End file.
